


And This Most of All

by sweet_poeia



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:11:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_poeia/pseuds/sweet_poeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam has driven himself half crazy with the thought that he alters it a little every time. That the details become skewed, that the lines shift and are instantly redrawn in his mind, close but not quite the same. That every time he thinks of that night it slips a little further away. Beloved mutant memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Most of All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inbetweencabs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbetweencabs/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful inbetweencabs, who generously donated to krisfansunite in exchange for this fic.

Adam has driven himself half crazy with the thought that he alters it a little every time. That the details become skewed, that the lines shift and are instantly redrawn in his mind, close but not quite the same. That every time he thinks of that night it slips a little further away. Beloved mutant memory.

Some things he thinks are for sure, like the soft grey shirt Kris was wearing, new and snug ( _for me_ ) and the ring that wasn’t on Kris’s finger ( _in his pocket, in a drawer, in the New York harbor_ ).

Sometimes ghosts of that memory catch him when he isn’t looking. Scotch is the smell of Kris’s breath, warm against his ear. Scotch is the smell of not kissing Kris.

The words sometimes tremble a little and threaten to fly loose, but he keeps them knotted on a string, like pearls. _Meant to be. I want to try. Please, Adam. Please._

And this most of all: _I think I’m in love with you_.

He thinks these things are for sure. It’s what lies beneath them that shifts under examination.

***

When Adam meditates, he pictures the garden on the roof. That night the garden was moonlit, but in meditation it is washed with sun. He tells himself that makes it different and therefore okay. It was, after all, a beautiful place.

It was on top of a nondescript building. You wouldn’t expect it to be there. But somehow Kris had found it, had happened upon it during his exploration of the city and wanted to show Adam, so they slipped away from the hotel after the show. They were a little giddy as they snuck past security. Adam left a note on his pillow just in case, with a lipstick kiss and the promise to be back before dawn.

And he followed the boy.

How did Kris move so easily through those city streets? What of Conway had prepared him for this? When he jimmied the lock open, the look he gave Adam was pure mischief. He had pulled Adam through the wrought iron gate and closed it, and they had spent a silver hour under a willow tree that didn’t know it was in New York City. It behaved like a tree from fairy tales.

Kris pulled a flask from his jacket and they passed it back and forth. Adam didn’t want the scotch, really, but Kris’s lips had made the mouth of the flask irresistible.

“You should play the harmonica,” Adam had mused as he watched Kris’s fingers try chords in the grass. “You could have it with you wherever you go.” Kris had smiled, had plucked a blade of grass to make a whistle.

An hour of just being, Kris’s shoulder warm against his, and Adam didn’t know those minutes would be the last of their kind. When exactly did Kris’s eyes grow so intense? Had he planned to turn to Adam and offer his heart, carried the intention around in his pocket all day like a tiny velvet box? Or perhaps the idea had been lurking inside the flask, a surprise to them both.

Adam could make his voice sound a thousand different ways, but it had never sounded the way it did when he told Kris _no_ , when he told him all the reasons for _no_.

“I see through that,” Kris said, which shouldn’t have made sense, but it did. Kris’s eyes were bright, moist. “A year. Come back in a year. To this place, and...just, say you will, if things are different.”

And a jolt of anger rushed through Adam at those words, because this was not an old movie, and things could never be different enough.

“Stop it, Kris.”

“Just say, Adam. Just say.” Kris’s voice was low and ragged against his ear.

They didn’t speak at all in the car Adam called to drive them back to the hotel.

***

Everyone noticed the change between them. No one mentioned it.

The end of a tour, Adam thought, was just like the end of a play. You clung to the people who had become family, and you meant to keep in touch because you couldn’t imagine them not being right there anymore. But other things quickly fill up the space they once occupied, like sand seeping in to fill every gap, and those people gradually slip away. Except for Allison, his Idol friendships became occasional, public things--birthday tweets and hugs on red carpets with cameras flashing all around, devouring every touch and smile.

There wasn’t even much of that with Kris. Even when they were in the same city, they were in different worlds.

Adam watched every interview, scanned Kris’s tweets, read a dozen meanings into each song lyric and thought, _how has it come to this?_ His finger hovered over Kris’s name in his contacts, but he never touched.

The work, he thought, was enough. Things were as they should be.

Adam was in LA on the first anniversary of that night.

The night passed.

***

There was a bruise on Adam’s heart, a deep and shadowy thing. He wondered, _Does he have one, too?_ He wondered, _Am I the devil he shuts the door against?_

Allison tried to set that fear to rest.

“He loves you, man. Look, can’t you just call him or something?”

“Not that simple, Allie.”

“Maybe it could be. If you let it.” She paused a moment. “He called you an angel. Said you were like his angel.”

Adam snorted. “That was last year, he was probably drunk, and I’m nobody’s--”

Allison interrupted. “It was last night. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but. There it is.” She fiddled with her bracelet. “Okay, he was maybe a little stoned. He calls sometimes when he’s like that. I guess ‘cause it’s the closest thing to calling you? I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around him. “And you really are an angel. Big dumbass.”

***

Two weeks before the second anniversary of that night, the separation was front page news. Adam was in New York with Neil, who was uncharacteristically tactful. Adam would almost have preferred the snark to Neil’s searching looks.

Adam went to the garden one day (but not _the_ day). There were people there. An older couple sat on the little stone bench arguing comfortably about pigeons, and a teenage girl lounged under the tree listening to her iPod and eating pretzels. He knew the second she recognized him by the way she suddenly became still. He winked at her before he slipped away.

Just a garden. Just a tree.

He called Allison. “He’s pretty sad, but you know. It was going to happen.” She paused. “He’s Kris, right? He’s like, Zen or something.”

On the second anniversary, Adam lay in his bed at Neil’s place and wrote a dreadful song about a love that was never meant to be. He cursed his sentimentality. He cursed his silent phone. Then he woke up at 4:00 a.m. and said, _enough_. It was early dawn when he got there. The gate was locked, and he didn’t have Kris’s way with locks (the way they seemed to melt open for him, innocent Christian boy my ass), but Adam managed to climb over. He stood by the tree as the sun rose, looking for who knows what ( _a note in the branches, their initials on the trunk, a missing blade of grass_ ) and not finding it.

He went back to LA.

***

It was kind of awful how much easier the third year was, Kris-wise. There was work, and there were weddings and babies. There was Leila’s breast cancer scare. There was Cheeks’s new show and Neil’s column in the Times. And Kris’s Grammy.

When Adam met him on the red carpet (because some fucker just had to orchestrate that, didn’t he) his heart stopped, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, buddy!” as he hugged Kris smoothly, and they smiled for the cameras.

Before they parted, Kris’s smile was tight. “Long time.”

Adam nodded. “Congratulations! Awesome, I’m so happy for you!”

Kris studied him. “Let’s don’t do this.”

Adam’s smile froze. Someone called to Kris and he started to turn.

“Kris. Did you. Were you there?” Adam’s voice was high, uncertain.

Kris focused on a point in the distance. “Guess that means you weren’t.” He sighed. “Things sure are different now, huh?” He turned his gaze to the tattoo on Adam’s arm. “I wanted to call the album Infinity. The label wouldn’t let me. Because....” He reached out to briefly touch the shape on Adam’s arm. “I told them they must be a bunch of Glamberts if they even knew what your tattoos are.”

Adam watched as Kris turned abruptly and left. Infinity. _A coincidence. A message. An ironic statement_.

Still so maddening.

Still so fucking beautiful.

***

Adam didn’t dwell. Honestly, he didn’t. He didn’t pine. Or wallow. The fantasies were glimmers in his dreams, and when he hooked up, which was often, it wasn’t so that he could have a substitute. He didn’t target plaid-wearing guitar boys, and he didn’t go for the opposite of that, either. For long stretches he wouldn’t really think about Kris at all.

And then he would.

When he did, it was usually with a rush of something like anger followed by a dull ache. He told himself it was because Kris had fucked everything up.

He kept moving, because Adam was never still. He glanced in the rear view mirror from time to time. Just in case.

 

***

“So, what do you call a guy who was kind of an ass and called to say he’s sorry?”

Adam lay frozen in the dark, trying to crawl out of the dream. “Kris,” he breathed.

“Bingo.”

Adam’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. No dream, the phone felt cool and firm in his hand. He waited.

“Adam? You there?”

“Yeah. Here.”

“So. I really am sorry. For the Grammy’s, but mostly for. Everything. And I don’t know why it took me so long to tell you that. But I’m telling you now, and I hope, I really hope it’s not too late.”

“Early.”

“What?”

“Early. Four in the morning.”

“It’s...shit, are you--where are you?”

“Um. Ireland.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, I--”

“Stop saying that, please.”

“Sorry. Shit. I’ll--can I--I’ll call back tomorrow. Or. No, yeah, tomorrow. Okay. Bye.”

Adam lay for a while with the phone against his ear. Finally, he squinted at the screen and went to his recent calls. Kris Allen. He stared at the words for a long time before he curled up around a pillow and called back.

“Adam?” Kris sounded breathless.

“Hey. I’m kind of up now.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m s--”

“Don’t say it.”

Silence.

“Kris.”

More silence.

“I’m not. I mean, I’m glad you called.”

And it really was that easy, after all.

***

Adam was sort of tempted to pick a fight. It seemed appropriate, all things considered, that there should be a fight. But when he was talking to Kris Allen, lovable superdork that he was, fighting seemed like it would be too much trouble when they could be talking about other things. And they talked endlessly and effortlessly about a million things, just like they always could. Only not _that_ thing. There was an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t go there again. They talked around it.

They talked about Katy, and how his parents had supported the decision, and how a lot of people in their church had not. They talked about how different it was touring their own shows, and how tired they both were of being asked the same questions. They talked about Adam’s role as initially reluctant gay posterboy and how he had warmed into it.

And they talked music. It vibrated between them, and Adam found it was the most natural thing in the world to reach for the phone to ask Kris what he thought of this run or that chord, and Kris would play parts of songs for Adam while he walked down a hall or leaned his head against the bus window or ducked into an empty room, eyes closed as Kris’s music rushed down his spine.

They did not talk about the night in the rooftop garden. That memory, washed smooth as a river stone, was deep inside Adam’s pocket. Sometimes his fingers brushed over it, but he kept it tucked away.

Kris sent pictures. Never of himself. Of a sunset or a shoe or, once when he was in Canada, a moose standing beside his tour bus.

“Kris as artist,” texted Adam.

Adam sent pictures back. Fragments of himself. His new studded jacket, violet-streaked hair, a close-up of a rhinestone rimmed eye.

“Adam as art,” sent back Kris.

Which gave Adam pause. After a while, Kris sent a picture. It was an old one of Adam, leaning against the Idol tour bus and squinting against the sun. Adam flinched at the sight of his messy hair and naked face so pale and freckled, and his instinct was to delete. Then he noticed the caption. _Fresh canvas. Infinite possibilities_.

He stared at the words for a long time before he slipped the phone into his pocket without responding.

***

“So, you’re besties again!” crowed Allison, and Adam had to grin at her delight.

“Something like that.”

“And you’ll both come to my birthday party, and I totally know what I’m using my candle wish for.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Kris is coming?” Adam was surprised. Kris hadn’t mentioned it.

“Of course he will, ‘cause his angel’s gonna be there.”

“Allison.”

“Okay, I’ll stop.” Her eyes twinkled harder. “You should totally wear white, though. Because--”

She dissolved into giggles before she could finish, and Adam said, “If we weren’t in a public restaurant right now I would tickle you into a coma, you know that, right?”

Allison wiped her eyes and apologized, and then she ordered an enormous piece of pineapple cheesecake which she coaxed Adam into sharing with her.

“You’re impossible,” Adam grumbled as she fed him another bite.

“I love you, too.”

***

“So, Alli said you might come to her birthday.” Adam brought it up casually.

“Told her I might. I’ll be in LA. Would that be okay?”

“Of course. Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Kris didn’t say anything, so Adam continued. “You should come. It would make her really happy.”

Another silence. Then, “Would I have to shave?”

Adam groaned. “Kristopher. Have you gone hobo again?”

“I don’t like shaving.”

Adam’s mind flashed back to Kris leaning over the hotel bathroom sink, shaving cream along his neck and jaw. Kris’s eyes had caught Adam’s in the mirror, and a sweet grin had slowly taken over Kris’s face. Adam had smiled back and left the room then, but another part of him, some daring phantom part of his brain, had stayed, had turned Kris around and taken the razor and finished the job for him as Kris grew hard against his thigh.

“I know you don’t.” Adam’s voice was thick and husky, and he cleared his throat.

“Adam.” The word hovered, almost a question.

“Neil’s coming in, gonna stay here for a few weeks. So you’ll get to see him, too.” Adam babbled on, some story about Neil being trailed by Glamberts in Reno. By the time Adam finished, things were relaxed and easy again.

***

Kris was coming in the day before Allison’s party. Adam offered to pick him up from the airport, but Kris said, “Nah, John’s picking me up. Emily’s making a big dinner, you know.”

The next night, Allison’s tiny place was packed when Adam got there, and it took a while to navigate the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” Allison’s eyes were wide and innocent.

“You! Happy birthday, beautiful baby girl!” Adam lifted her right off the ground with his hug.

“Kitchen,” Allison said when he set her down. “Go.”

Kris was leaning against the counter with a beer in one hand, talking to Allison’s mom. When she saw Adam, she kissed him and excused herself, slipping out the door.

It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Not at all. Kris melted into him, face planted firmly like always, and Adam rocked them back and forth, grinning like an idiot. Kris smelled the same, clean and woodsy, and he felt warm and solid in Adam’s arms.

Kris pulled back to look up at Adam, and Adam could see crinkles at the corners of Kris’s eyes that hadn’t been there the last time Kris had smiled up at him.

“Hey.” Kris’s grin was goofy.

Adam ran his fingers over Kris’s chin. Silky smooth.

Kris shrugged. “For Alli. You know. Can’t look like a bum.” He continued to gaze up at Adam, eyes sweet and happy.

Lying in bed later that night, Adam remembered Kris’s eyes on him, and the way Kris always made him feel like he was beautiful, even though he never said it. He remembered the way Kris’s voice in person resonated in a way it didn’t over the phone, rumbling deep inside Adam whenever Kris laughed. He remembered John coming up behind Kris, the somehow-significant squeeze John gave Kris’s arm as he moved between them, and the way Kris became more distant, more polite towards Adam. He wanted to rip John’s arm out of its socket, wanted to throw him out the nearest window, and judging from the wary look John gave him, that was reading pretty clearly to the room. But John stood his ground, arm across Kris’s shoulder, and Adam’s inner-rage subsided in a way it never did with Brad, which had to mean something, right?

Kris stayed in LA for a week, and they saw each other often--always with friends, never alone, because to have Kris alone would be like asking a question, and what if, what if Kris answered?

When Kris called him asking for a ride to the airport, Adam thought, _this is it. This is when it will happen, finally, and things will be changed again._ But Kris was casual and easy in the car and as they sat in the airport bar having a drink, and the hug he gave Adam before he went through security didn’t linger.

So.

Maybe that answered his question.

***

“The consensus is that you’ve entered a blue period.” Brad spoke lightly, but his eyes were serious as he peered at Adam over his martini glass.

“What is that even supposed to mean.” Adam stabbed a cucumber, released it, and impaled it again.

“Blue. A little distant, a little moody. The light’s dim. Blue.”

Adam shrugged. Brad chewed his olive thoughtfully.

“So I saw the Cherrys last night, and naturally the conversation turned to you.”

“Naturally.”

“And Scarlett has been talking to Allison, and she thinks it has something to do with--”

“It has nothing to do with Kris!” Adam pushed away his salad and reached for Brad’s shrimp cocktail.

“Right.”

“We talk, text all the time. Everything’s fine now.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’re living in the past. Kris has forgotten about that, and I have too.”

“Got it.” Brad propped his chin on his hand and smiled sweetly.

“Seriously, I wish I’d never told you.” Adam ate in silence for a while. “Ok, yes, maybe there was a time after the divorce when I thought maybe. But that’s the furthest thing from my mind now.” Another long silence. “I’ve been dating.”

“So I’ve seen. Quite the parade. The little Finnish one is delicious, by the way. Too bad for him.”

Adam didn’t bother asking Brad what he meant by that. “I’m straight with him. He likes the way things are, and he knows I don’t want a--”

“Serious relationship? Oh, honey, don’t even try that with me.” Brad leveled him with those enormous doe eyes. “That’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

***

Kris had noticed the parade, too. “Saw you on TV last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” Adam could hear bits and pieces of a melody in the background. He closed his eyes and imagined Kris’s fingers wandering over the strings. “Shiny suit,” Kris said, almost absently.

“Kristopher, I’m impressed. You noticed clothes.”

“Yeah, well. I notice things.”

“Oh, really? What else did you notice. Hair? Make up? Accessories?” Adam settled back with a laugh.

There was a musical interval. Then, “Hair up. The shaved part grew back. That took you, what, fifteen minutes?”

“About as long as it took you to grow the pornstache.”

“That’s gone now.”

“I know.”

Kris continued. “Make-up--something kind of shimmery on your lips. And eyes. Accessories--a whole bunch of rings. Wouldn’t mess with you in a dark alley. New necklace with a big silver feather. Which was maybe a present from your date, who was wearing a matching tie.”

Adam took a moment before he answered. “It was a present. Good eye.”

“So, is this like being pinned or something? Because I notice you out with a lot of different guys, but this one looks like it might be getting serious. Feather necklace and all.”

The strumming stopped. Adam’s heart pounded. “Maybe,” he lied. “Is that--are you--what about you, are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” Kris answered abruptly. “Got my hands full, I guess. Nobody giving me feather necklaces. But hey, I hope it’s good. I hope he’s good to you. For you. You deserve that.” There were voices on the other end. “Listen, I’ve gotta run. Catch you later, man.”

“Kris?” Adam had no idea what he wanted to say. He just didn’t want to hang up. He felt as though some little tendril connecting them had been damaged. “I just. I wish I could know what’s inside your mind.”

The tiniest of sighs. “That’s easy Adam. All you ever have to do is ask.”

And he was gone.

***

The next day, on the fourth anniversary, Adam didn’t call Kris. They talked almost every day now, but for once, Adam didn’t want to hear Kris joke about the boring meeting he had excused himself from to answer the call, or the amazing sandwich he was having for lunch, or the lyric that had crept in while he was sleeping. Because Kris would be somewhere other than the rooftop garden. Because he probably wouldn’t even know that this was the date that Adam used to mark time the way others used New Years or the last day of school. So Adam didn’t call.

A direct flight from LA to New York takes about five hours. Adam listened to all the playlists Kris had sent over the last year, and he didn’t try to pretend to himself that he wasn’t searching for clues. He closed his eyes and dozed, and he dreamed that Kris was singing a song to him, but he couldn’t hear it because the earbuds were still in and the volume was up too high, and by the time he took them out Kris had stopped singing and started watching football with Cheeks, who just shrugged at Adam and blew him a kiss.

When Adam got to the garden, it was late afternoon. He stopped at the gate. He wrapped a hand around the cool iron latch and stood for a long moment, thinking, _If I turn around and leave now, if I just call a cab and go to Neil’s, I’ll never have to know for certain that he’s not here. I can just wonder and hope, and I won’t have to suffer the disappointment_.

Adam opened the gate. He opened his eyes.

Sitting under the tree, his back to Adam, was a lone figure holding a Starbucks cup. He wore faded jeans and a snug blue t-shirt. His restless fingers searched for music in the grass.

Adam silently closed the gate before he walked the short distance to Kris. He lowered himself to the ground beside him so that their shoulders were only an inch apart, and he could feel the shudder go through Kris’s body, could hear the way his breath quickened.

They both looked straight ahead for a time.

“Kristopher.” Adam’s voice was full. “What’s inside your mind?”

Kris finally turned to look at Adam, and his eyes said everything, said it all. But words came, too, like a flood, and this time Adam drank them up like spring water until they were the blood in his veins.

And he gave back words, too, as he held Kris’s shaking body and soothed him with strong hands and gentle kisses. _I’m sorry_ and _my boy_ and _only ever you_. And this most of all: _I know I’m in love with you_.

 

Epilogue

“I want you to know that this is all so perfectly romantic that no man can possibly measure up to either one of you and I will die alone.” Allison failed at looking stern as she arranged a boutonniere of willow leaves in Kris’s buttonhole.

“You think this is romantic? Adam wanted to carve their initials in the tree, but Kris wouldn’t let him,” Neil laughed.

“It’s not good for trees to be carving things into them.” Kris was so tired of explaining this to Neil. “It makes them vulnerable to disease. And her name is Willa, okay?”

Adam scooped Kris in and kissed his nose. “I love that you named our tree.”

“Well. I had plenty of time to get to know her, waiting for you to show up all those years,” Kris reminded him. “Even that year when it rained.”

“Oh, baby.” Adam rested his forehead against Kris’s and said softly. “It was raining where I was, too.”

“I know it was.” Kris’s hands were on Adam’s cheeks and he was going up on tiptoes.

“Cut it out, you two!” Neil pulled them apart and Allison tutted while she wiped lip gloss from Kris’s nose with a handkerchief. “As maid of honor, it’s my job to make sure you don’t arrive at the altar looking like you just had the honeymoon.”

Brett the wedding planner peeked giddily behind the screen. “Showtime, boys and girl. Here we go!”

Allison smoothed the skirt of her pale green dress and smiled brightly at them. The music paused, and the processional began. “I love you both. So much. Fuck, I’m gonna cry.” She picked up her bouquet and took Neil’s arm, and Kris and Adam were alone.

Left to their own devices, Adam’s lip gloss was completely gone and Kris’s hair was suspiciously fluffy by the time they made their way down the path.

It was a tiny, secret ceremony in a tiny, secret garden, with only the people they loved best around them. Later, there would be a fantastic, glittery party with press hovering at every window. Neil would toast and roast them as best man. Cheeks would arrive in red hot pants and flirt evilly and mercilessly with Daniel Allen. Gaga and Perez would have an altercation in the ladies’ room. But first, this -- a moment of perfect serenity as they locked eyes, joined hands, and pledged their love beneath a quite possibly magical willow tree.


End file.
